


Thoughts in the Dark

by Torradin341



Series: Heartbreak Ficlets [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Flash Fic, Gen, Not Happy, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:38:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torradin341/pseuds/Torradin341
Summary: Flash ficlet about thinking about suicide.





	Thoughts in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: Suicidal thoughts
> 
> So, seriously, pretty intense thoughts of suicide.

She lay on her bed, in the dark, staring at the ceiling. It was interesting, she thought, how much light there really was in the dark. It was so hard to get rid of all of the light. She didn’t even try anymore.

Instead, she just lay there thinking. Her headphones were on, music was blaring in her ears. She didn’t hear it. Not really. Old songs were playing, songs that were on the radio when she was a kid. Something angsty and trite, but that usually held more meaning to her than anything else in her life. It didn’t matter though. Her mind was elsewhere and barely processing the noise that was blocking all of the other noises that she wasn’t hearing.

She wondered, not for the first time, what the blade would feel like, slowly sliding across her neck. Would it sting? Would she care? Would the blood pour down her neck, hot and sticky, like all of her books and fics described it?

One of these days, she would find out. Probably on the day that she decided to feel what the knife would feel like resting on her neck. She knew if she took the one step, she would take the other. So she didn’t take either. That decision would be a permanent one.

No take-backs.

She knew she could do it. She used to cut, years and years ago. Small cuts, not the long jagged ones that people noticed. And not in places people looked. She liked wearing not-long-sleeved shirts, after all. It used to be good to feel something, anything at all.

Ultimately, she was just tired. Not tired. Beaten. She was defeated, over and over again. She was sick of fighting it. Sick of life never giving her a brake. Never letting her just get to a better place. Every time something got better, other things got worse. It seemed like she was being dragged down a long, endless slope downward.

She wanted it to stop. She wanted to change the slope. She wanted to get rid of it all together. She wanted to feel something other than despair. She wanted to never feel anything again.

She lay there, deep in thought, contemplating the end and the roads that led there.

The night continued, ambient light barely lighting the room, to the sound of unheard music.


End file.
